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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128880">for all time and forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyskie/pseuds/sparklyskie'>sparklyskie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, but just the break up, day6's congratulations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:01:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyskie/pseuds/sparklyskie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Osamu could nail something about Keiji, that was how he wore his rays and shadows very prettily.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>for all time and forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have uploaded this on <a href="https://twitter.com/obikunnn/status/1277590777556697089?s=20">twitter</a> before. So if you had read it there, then this is just me uploading it on AO3!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Osamu could nail something about Keiji, then that was how he wore his rays and shadows very prettily.</p><p> </p><p>People said they weren’t very much of an opposite; neither of them was up of each other’s down, light to each other’s night, nor the ocean that cool down each other’s fiery explosion. They just happened to find one another in a stall that smelled like sweat and excitement, and Keiji was sitting quietly on the bleachers. Both were merely volleyball spectators that coincidentally shared an abundance of love for another taste of onigiri.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu thought that having a boyfriend would feel similar to swimming in a world of cookery; that he had to learn how to peel a potato first before jumping into potato dishes. So he trained himself to be more patient than his initial capacity, to understand Keiji whole and learn his languages, to communicate in a way that was comprehensible for both of them. A thousand miles of a journey started with a single step, and their baby steps felt utterly promising.</p><p> </p><p>Keiji had him believed that people didn’t necessarily have to be an adversary to intertwine their fingers together; that monochrome was nice but also was other spectrum contextures. In their spontaneous rendezvouses had he let Osamu wrapped a hand on his waist in public, closing the proximities between them even when pairs of eyes were looking and shifting silently in discomfort. It was as if Keiji was born to let Osamu boast about him, about them, about love that was loud they made the heavens sick. And he guessed he liked that.</p><p> </p><p>He liked how Keiji threw subtlety out of the window for him.</p><p> </p><p>One day, Osamu went home to a dark, empty flat. It was ten post meridiem and Keiji was nowhere in his sight. He tried calling his number multiple times, only to be met by a repetitious automatic voice mail. Onigiri Miya was pretty hectic that day and he couldn’t, against his own will, spare another minute to give Keiji a call. He cursed to the vacancy before him, regretting that he should’ve, at least, sent him a text. A brief one would do. He remembered how Keiji hated the slightest devoid of news between the two.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu turned the lamps and put his bag on the sofa. He was about to drink a glass of water when he realized that Keiji’s favorite mug was not sitting right beside his. The sudden realization had him dumbfounded. One second, and two, and his instinct told him to immediately rush to their shared bedroom, ignoring the plain fact that Keiji’s favorite bonsai was missing too, and opened their cabinet.</p><p> </p><p>Gone. His clothes weren’t there either.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu felt dizzy, muddled, disoriented—like having his gut-punched and he was sprawled on the floor. His heart was drumming against his ribcage and his feet felt awfully wobbly.</p><p> </p><p>Even if the gentlest breeze kisses him away, he’d certainly fall anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to believe that their apartment was robbed but he had a strong doubt loaded in his lungs, exasperated to be spilled raw and bare. His mind raced and he tried reaching out to a few of Keiji’s office colleagues, but to no avail. He hissed, rather too loudly, <em>“Where the fuck are these people</em>?” and let out a frustrated groan. The last thing he knew he was trying to suppress a volcano inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>At a time like this had his temper shown its colors as he was overwhelmed with hunches galore: fear, loss, stagger, worry.</p><p> </p><p>But Osamu was quick. He was then already running frantically to the front door with a car key in his pocket, closing the door behind him after making sure it was properly locked. He climbed into the car, took his phone out to ask Atsumu for help, and halted as an unknown number made its way to call him. He picked it up.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry—“</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu.”</p><p> </p><p>“God, Keiji?” a relief sighs escaped him. His attention fully diverted on him. “Baby, sweetheart, thank God.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu turned the engine in one swift motion.</p><p> </p><p>“God, I was worried sick. Where yer at, baby? I’m picking ya up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu—“</p><p> </p><p>“I think our house was robbed. Yer clothes and mugs are all gone. They even took yer favorite bonsai too. Who the fuck would even steal a goddamn tree? What a fuckin’ weirdo.”</p><p> </p><p>There was silence and Keiji’s hard breathing didn’t escape Osamu. “Keiji, yer okay?” he exchanged hands to hold the phone. His other hand jerked the steering wheel. “Stay with me. I’ll be there soon. Just tell me where ya at.”</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Keiji gulped down a choke. “Osamu…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, baby, I’m here. I’m here with ya.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t go home.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu felt like he was going to be deaf soon; his heartbeat was too loud and clear and it tore the air around him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“I need to sort things out.”</p><p> </p><p>“What things? Can’t we sort it out together?”</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t. I need to do it myself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? What happened exactly? Is it about the manuscript I spilled yesterday? I’m sorry, darling, I really am. Please wait for me. We can talk later.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Please... Listen to me. I need time. Okay? And I took my things with me too.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu was not ready for this. He had his inkling but he didn’t want to face its embodiment. He couldn’t possibly breathe like he didn’t have a chunk of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, forcing its way up but eventually got stuck in his throat. The sudden choke electrified every sense he had left and petrified his limbs; full, continuous, uninterrupted. He made a quick turn to park his car by the curb as the cold suddenly felt too unbearable on a summer night.</p><p> </p><p>He slumped down; slamming his head against the steering wheel and feeling the black, cool leather pierced his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“Did I do something wrong, Keiji?”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t do anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why are you like this?” he let out a sob, and then two, and there was a waterfall from the brink of his eyes. They were supposed to be salty but they felt bitter on the tip of his mouth, seeping in his trembled lips as he spoke, “Why? Tell me. Give me a good fuckin’ reason.”</p><p> </p><p>How Osamu never felt a silence so thick and heavy in his entire life.</p><p> </p><p>“I got promoted.”</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to congratulate him, really, but some things were just more important than the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Will <em>us</em> get in the way of it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>need</em> to focus.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can wait.”</p><p> </p><p>“No—you don’t understand. This will take me away, completely.”</p><p> </p><p>There it was again—a bundle of turmoil in his stomach, twirling and twisting unsettlingly.</p><p> </p><p>God.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you come back?”</p><p> </p><p>Keiji didn’t respond. And with every second passed, his heart went heftier. The world fell above him, and he shut his eyes to brace himself for whatever Keiji was going to throw him.</p><p> </p><p>That night, stars fell on Alabama and he made a wish.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Osamu could barely recall the days that went after. His routine was dull: he woke up to an empty bed, made himself a cup of coffee, went to work, and left his wounded heart behind the door. When he came back, the flat would still be as dark as to how he left it in the morning, and he’d close the front door, slumping down and feeling beat. He’d then stare at nothingness, feeling an ocean flushing his veins, and clutch his chest tightly. Osamu would fly a few punches upon it, and cry to the barren that looked at him with pity.</p><p> </p><p>His routine stayed monotonous like that. For days and weeks. Rinse and repeat.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, Keiji never once left a trace of brokenness on his face. Instead, his smile on social media looked like absolute triumphs and bright days; like things that didn’t reek of booze of forlorn, of mournful, neglected departure, of an impromptu goodbye. He looked way too joyous for Osamu’s liking. It felt too normal, too exhilarated, too okay for someone who just had his heart torn apart.</p><p> </p><p>His happiness was too everything that didn’t meet Osamu’s breaking point.</p><p> </p><p>Then he saw another recent post of today, one that depicted two interlocked hands with a green emerald diamond ring, circled nicely around each other’s ring fingers. It took him one picture and Osamu knew he’d lost it altogether.</p><p> </p><p>He dialed a certain number.</p><p> </p><p>“Osa—“</p><p> </p><p>“Is this part of the work?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I asked if this was part of the work!” his voice rose; anger grew in a heartbeat. Osamu was practically panting, and he could hear Keiji holding his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it?”</p><p> </p><p>A hesitant pause, but then a resolute answer blurted out of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“It is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Were ya harassed? Threatened of some sort? or—“</p><p> </p><p>He cut him quickly. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Keiji,” Osamu tried his best to calm down. “I’m not in the mood. Just tell me the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you. I wasn't harassed, or threatened of some sort. I came to him. I wanted this.”</p><p> </p><p>As if he couldn't be more nuts than he already was.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“He could bring me higher. To the top.”</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to say, <em>then what ‘bout me?</em></p><p> </p><p>Instead he said, “Yer never greedy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Things have changed.” <em>ya sure have.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Ya said ya’d come back.”</p><p> </p><p>“I did. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Was it a lie?” he swallowed a dread; painful. “Was everything else a lie too? Do—“</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Thus the unasked question stung him, stung the tip of his tongue down to his fingertips, the edge of his pride, the scattered pieces he had collected ever so painstakingly, the faith he’d desperately cling onto with every breath that he took.</p><p> </p><p>Then he felt naked.</p><p> </p><p>And unsheathed.</p><p> </p><p>And powerless.</p><p> </p><p>And weak.</p><p> </p><p>And deeply terrified.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do ya love me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu, I’m really sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Didja, even?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Keiji, please.” he couldn’t hold it anymore. “Don’t leave me.”</p><p> </p><p>Keiji muttered another apology, but each syllable sounded like an indisputable lie to him too. It was a sequence of sorry that didn’t ask for forgiveness; instead, there was exhaustion, and it tasted like years’ worth of bitterness that bites and mocks his confidence, longing for freedom and justice for his own selfish sanity.</p><p> </p><p>So he did the only thing he knew how: pressing his hands against his ears, shutting all his senses, and hoping that it would be enough to block out the sore that tormented his system.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Their friends were right. Both of them weren’t exactly the opposite of each other, nor did they fit the concept of balance and equilibria. They were destructive that met another destructive, and together they were holocaust. God forbid His servants should convince themselves to not obey His words. They should, by any means, do good deeds without malice. And one could do such a thing by letting go of the sorrow that had trampled him over, moving on to another, and leaving the past behind the door.</p><p> </p><p>For all time and forever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave kudos/comments if you like this :D It means a lot to me!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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